


Hold Tight

by dcjuris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcjuris/pseuds/dcjuris
Summary: Set in no particular time. Sam finds a way to help Dean with anxiety.
Kudos: 3





	Hold Tight

Dean hates this feeling. The creeping dread dancing hot up his spine, drenching him in sweat. The anxiety squeezing his heart, stealing his breath and dimming his vision. God, he _hates_ this. It's been getting worse lately--smaller, simpler things are setting him off. He curls his shaking hands into fists. He's got to get control over this. But the harder he fights, the worse it gets. Now he can't get any air, can't stop his rabbit-in-a-trap heart.

"Dean?"

Instinct makes Dean suck in a gulp and straighten his shoulders before he even fully registers Sam's presence. He wants to say something, assure Sam that he's fine. Make some patented Dean-Winchester-Ultimate-Badass joke. But everything's going black and the words are stuck.

Sam comes closer, hand outstretched. "Can I try something?"

It takes him a minute to process the words. Try… something. Try? As in fix? "Will it make this stop?"

Sam frowns. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I think it might."

He forces a nod.

Sam wraps large fingers around his left wrist and squeezes tight.

The reaction is instant. It's like being splashed with freezing water, like walking into air conditioning from the sweltering sun. He gasps as his muscles suddenly unclench. His heartbeat slows, breathing becomes automatic again instead of something he has to work for. He looks up at Sam. "Why…. Why does that work?"

"It's like an anchor." Sam shrugs. "It kinda short circuits your brain's current process and makes it think about something else."

Dean nods. Makes sense, considering all he can focus on is the contact. They stand there for several minutes while he gets his breathing under control.

Sam opens his fingers slowly, one by one, keeps them lightly on Dean's skin until Dean nods again. "Better?"

"Yeah." He flexes his wrist.

"Too tight?"

"Nah. 'Sgood." He ducks his head. This is embarrassing as fuck. He's supposed to be the strong, solid one. The one everyone can count on. The rock. "Thanks."

***

They don't talk about it after that. Of course they don't. Days go by. Weeks. A month. Dean's fine. Or maybe not but he's managing on his own. He's still having these episodes. He can't deny that a part of him longs for that moment again--wants nothing more than for Sam to make it better again.

Sam gives him weird looks and frowns a lot, but doesn't bring it up. He doesn’t comment on his big brother's shaky hands after a hunt, doesn't ask about Dean's inordinately long showers, though Dean's pretty sure Sam knows he's not jerking off in there. Come to think of it, jerking off might help. He'd try it if he could get a damn boner. Something about hyperventilating in a dingy motel bathroom, on his ass between the sink and the tub just doesn't turn his crank.

Which is where he finds himself now. He presses as far back into the small space as he can, hoping to recreate the feeling of being anchored. It's not enough, though. His back and shoulders are squished in, but there's nothing but openness in front of him--like a gaping maw. He's going to fall into it, there's no two ways about it. It's going to eat him whole and he's going to tumble in down, down, down, down. He's lightheaded now. Dimly he realizes it's because he's breathing too hard, too shallow, too fast. But he can't stop it.

The bare light bulb above his head glares down at him. It's going to fry his brain, but he can't bring himself to move. He shuffles further back, digs his heels in against the stained tile and tries to leverage himself against the wall. Maybe if he slams his head back he can punch through, make a hole he can crawl in. There's a loud, rattling sound filling his ears, with an undercurrent of a low whine. He has no idea what's making the noises, but its probably going to eat him. A shadow falls over him and he shrinks in, trying to curl himself into a ball.

The Noisy Thing is trying to pull him out of his cubby, grabbing him by his arms. He wrestles against it but he's dizzy and disoriented, and it's bigger than him. It manhandles his wrists away from his chest and… Oh.

"Dean?"

Sam's face is blurry, but Dean would recognize that floppy mop anywhere.

"It's okay." Sam flexes his fingers around Dean's wrists and squeezes hard. "You're okay. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you are. You're safe. I'm right here."

Sam's here. _Sam_ is _here_. And now that Dean's more aware, he realizes the rattling was his brother picking the lock--he can see the kit lying on the floor by Sam's feet. And that whining? Yeah, turns out that's coming from him. Oh and also? He's shaking. Fucking _shaking_.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Sam knee walks a little closer. "Let it happen. Just focus on breathing. That's all you need to do right now. Don't worry about whatever else is happening."

That's good, because Dean can't stop whining or shaking. But he's less dizzy now, and it's easier to breathe. 

"You're doing good, Dean. Really good. Keep focusing on breathing."

He keeps breathing, slower and slower, until he's in synch with Sam. He's not whining anymore, but he's still shaking, and now his teeth are chattering.

"Okay. I'm gonna try something else to help with the shaking." Sam eases his grip on Dean's wrists.

Dean's heart slams into overdrive again and he can't keep the mewl of protest in.

"No, no. It's okay, I'm not gonna let go yet, I promise. Just…here."

Sam pushes and pulls and Dean finally gets the picture. He lets Sam ease him out of his cubby, ends up sitting in the V of Sam's legs with his back against Sam's chest. Sam crosses his arms so that Dean is hugging himself.

"Okay. I'm gonna let go of your wrists for just a second so I can switch hands. Trust me, okay?"

Dean manages a nod. Sam switches hands quickly, so that now Dean is firmly held in his arms.

"Just lean back and breathe with me. I'm pretty sure this will help the shaking."

"'kay." He settles back against Sam. His brother has always run hot, and right now he's throwing off enough heat to bake a pie. It's nice…soothing. He tips his head back to lay it on Sam's shoulder. Sam responds by tucking his chin against Dean's shoulder. And that's…that's actually _really_ nice.

Dean closes his eyes.

***

They still don't talk about it, because panic aside, Dean is _Dean_ , and talking isn't his forte. It happens again, after a hunt where Sam very nearly loses a leg and Dean's trying to keep it together behind the wheel. Sam lays his hand on the seat between them, palm up. He doesn't say anything, but Dean is so goddamn grateful he all but slams his hand down. Sam's fingers wrap tight immediately and it's better. It's good.

They carry on like that. Dean gets better about asking for help. One morning he corners Sam in some motel kitchenette, grabs for Sam's hands and leans his forehead against Sam's chest.

Sam is there every time, silent and strong. He never questions Dean, never rushes him. Twice he tells Dean that he'll listen if he wants to talk, but Dean never takes him up on it. Sometimes he ends up holding Dean through the tremors, sometimes the tremors never come.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm, and the time between Dean's episodes gets long and longer. They're closer now, the two of them, closer than they've ever been, and Dean has to admit, he likes it this way.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also a published author. I'm DC Juris. If you like my writing style, you can find my works on Amazon.


End file.
